


Vindication

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [64]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 10:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16741951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Jared started his season pretty well, but it’s in November that everything really starts clicking.





	Vindication

Jared started his season pretty well, but it’s in November that everything really starts clicking. His line is rolling, the three of them working the kind of psychic thing you only get sometimes, and it feels like — amazing. Jared likes his linemates, but they’re not like — they’ve all got their own things going, their own friends, they don’t exactly hang much, and yet when they’re crashing into one another after tying things up with two to spare, it doesn’t matter, Jared loves them more than _life_. Loves his goalie for holding tight when they started getting bombarded, loves his D for the same thing, especially Spencer, who was the one who dished that pass from the blue line, one that hit Jared’s stick right in the tape, barely stayed on it before Jared sent it to Gregory, who sunk it in, tic-tac-toe. Loves ‘em.

The Hitmen leave Saskatchewan with seven points in four games — that tying goal didn’t win them the game, but it did keep them from going pointless. Jared’s wiped after four games in five days — try to do _that_ , NHLers — but pretty happy about it, honestly. The team’s clicking even better than it did last year, that win streak bumped them up to first in their division, and Jared came away with almost as many points as the Hitmen did, notching two goals and four assists. He’s already nudging thirty points, which he only got to in December last year, and that was playing with _Chaz_ , who ended the season pretty high up on the top goal scorers list. 

When they get home Bryce is, once again, gone, though it’s just a quick jaunt to Nashville, back tomorrow night. Which is good, because Jared’s got all this pent up — aggression isn’t the right word, and energy isn’t either, because he’s _tired_. Enthusiasm, maybe? He’s in a good mood and he wants to share it, but not like, with just anyone.

He goes to his parents for dinner, because he’s too fidgety to sit home alone, grins into his pasta while his dad raves about the roadie and Erin dramatically rolls her eyes.

He sticks around to watch the Flames game after, because it’s not like he has anything else to do, and there is a noticeable lack of grunting at Bryce from his dad, even when he’s dropping his gloves in the second after a high hit from Ivanov, one that went undetected by the refs, but definitely not by Jared, who may have stopped breathing. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t _start_ breathing again until the refs have finally separated them. Bryce doesn’t look hurt, not from the hit or the punches — Ivanov definitely landed a few — but Jared’s probably not going to stop worrying until he talks to him after the game.

“Idiot,” his dad mutters, but weirdly like, not disapprovingly?

“He hit him high,” Jared says, but he doesn’t entirely disagree. Taking himself off the ice for five minutes isn’t smart when they’re down a goal; the Preds must love that trade, getting the top goalscorer off the ice in exchange for one of their grit players.

“Glad he’s okay,” his dad says, almost grudging.

Jared glances over at his mom, who smirks back. “Tell your boyfriend he shouldn’t be risking that pretty face,” she says.

“Right?” Jared says. “He’s way too pretty to fight.”

His dad grunts.

Dammit.

*

Bryce calls Jared not long after he gets home from his parents’. He says he’s okay, and sounds it, and Jared feels something settle in him for the first time since he saw Bryce go into the boards, too relieved to even bother calling Bryce an idiot. It can wait until tomorrow.

He crashes almost the second after he gets off the phone with Bryce, those four games catching up with him, forgets to set his alarm, appalled when he wakes up over eleven hours later. It’s a good thing they have three days off, because apparently he really fucking needs it.

It maybe says something about Jared’s growing trust in Bryce that when he starts skimming articles on his phone over breakfast the next morning — okay, barely morning — reading ‘Calgary Flames Player Linked to Bar Fight in Nashville’ doesn’t drop like a stone in his stomach. Like, there’s for sure some trepidation before he clicks on the headline, and when he reads ‘Flames enforcer Luke Morris’ he breathes an audible sigh of relief, so maybe the trust isn’t like, perfect, but his first thought wasn’t that it was Bryce when he read it, and it definitely would have been when they started dating.

The article doesn’t have much info the headline doesn’t, mostly just rehashes Morris’ on-ice fighting, like it’s got anything to do with freaking assault — Jared knows of plenty of fighters who don’t do that shit, like, recreationally, or whatever, but okay — wonders, not for the first time, how the hell Luke and Ben Morris are brothers, then puts his phone away and shovels the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, because he’s working from behind here, and he’s going to feel like a gremlin if he doesn’t get anything productive done before Bryce gets home. 

Jared stoically endures some cardio and free weights — it’s not as fun when Bryce isn’t beside him, infuriatingly outpacing him at everything and making Jared work to even remotely keep up — less stoically does some surveillance of the enemy. They’ve got a game in Edmonton in two days, before they’re finally, blessedly, home for a bit, and they play the Oil Kings back-to-back in that, so it’s highlights time. They’ve got a new kid who’s been tearing shit up, and he’s on the second line, but Jared has a feeling they’ll be playing head to head, so it’s best to get a feel for him now rather than be victimised by him later.

Bryce comes home sporting a shiner from his fight with Ivanov, and Jared is very conflicted, because on the one hand he wants to go get Bryce ice and tell his dumb ass he’s a goalscorer, not a fighter, so he should leave vengeance to the guys who do it for a living — off and on the ice apparently — and on the other hand he thinks it looks kind of hot. Still not as hot as the goal scoring, though, so he goes with calling him a dumbass.

“Least I just fought on the ice,” Bryce says, looking all proud of himself. Patting himself on the back for not getting into a bar fight, god, why is this Jared’s boyfriend.

“What was that even about?” Jared asks, going to grab the ice, wrapping it in paper towel.

Bryce grimaces when he comes back with it, but dutifully puts it on his eye.

“Guy thought Morris was hitting on his girlfriend,” Bryce says. “Morris basically said he wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole, guy jumped him, clearly didn’t know who he was fighting. Shit was one-sided; Morris destroyed him.”

Jared rolls his eyes. Macho douchebag bullshit, then.

“You’re lucky that never happened to you,” Jared says. “You’ve probably hit on a ton of guy’s girlfriends.” 

Bryce shrugs.

“And you definitely can’t hold your own in a fight like Morris can,” Jared says.

“Hey,” Bryce says. “I did good.”

“You did okay,” Jared says. “But I’m guessing you need that ice for your eye more than you need it for your knuckles.”

“Fuck off,” Bryce mutters, but Jared sneaks a glance at his hands, and yeah, they look just fine.

Bryce is a whiny baby about his face — Jared legit finds him pouting into the mirror before they go to bed that night, poking at the bruise — and only gets less pouty about it when Jared lets his mouth run away from him in said bed and maybe tells him how hot he looks. He didn’t mean to, it’s just — look, it’s hard enough for him not to say what he’s thinking at any given time, it is flat out impossible when he’s got Bryce’s hand on him, hair tousled from his hands, eye dark, looking all like they just tried to beat each other up and then accidentally started making out instead or something.

“Don’t think this means I want you to get into more fights,” Jared says after, because Bryce looks too smug. It’s making him nervous.

“Don’t lie, you thought it was hot,” Bryce says.

“Not at the time,” Jared says. “At the time I was just freaking out about him giving you a concussion or something.”

“Aww,” Bryce says.

“Don’t aww,” Jared says. 

“Aww,” Bryce says, even more drawn out.

“I will give you a matching one,” Jared threatens.

“Like you could take me,” Bryce says, and that maybe leads to a pinching match, which Jared, sadly, loses, because Bryce is not wrong about that.

That fight totally ends in making out though, so it’s all good.

*

Jared heads to Edmonton with mixed feelings about leaving. Like, Jared is a little tired of the road right now, and he just barely got time with Bryce, but at the same time, he’s hyped for another game, feels like he could take anyone on and beat them right now, and the Oil Kings aren’t shit this year, new kid excepted.

They’ve just gotten into Edmonton, started to settle down, when Jared’s phone rings, which is — weird.

There aren’t all that many people who’d be calling Jared. His parents, but it’s work hours, and they generally call in the evening. Bryce, but he’s mostly an evening caller too. Jared’s immediately on guard, because if any of them are calling at ten-thirty in the morning, it’s not good news, and his grandma’s health has been declining lately.

It’s Greg. This is also probably not good. Jared has a sudden terrifying thought that something about him and Bryce leaked to the media. He goes to the bathroom, locks the door, because whatever is up, it’s probably going to need privacy, and that’s difficult when your roommate is fiddling with his phone all of five feet away.

“Hi Greg,” Jared says when he picks up, very proud of himself for not just immediately saying ‘what’s wrong?’.

“You’ve been playing really well lately,” Greg says, and at least that’s not how he’d open it if someone had found out about him and Bryce? Greg isn’t a ‘lead you into gently’ kind of guy, which Jared respects.

“Thanks,” Jared says, but that’s the kind of thing that Greg — or his assistant probably — sends him nice emails about, ‘nice point streak, keep it up!’, or ‘that powerplay goal last night was beautiful’, a not so subtle code for ‘I am paying attention to you, don’t think I only give a shit when contract time comes around’. Jared knows that’s why he does it, but it still feels good to get those emails. Calls, though? Calls are for the bigger shit. “Um,” he says, when Greg doesn’t immediately say anything, like Jared’s ‘thanks’ was inadequate or something, “What’s up, Greg?”

“The Oilers just called me,” Greg says.

Are they like, dropping him? _Can_ they drop him? Jared tends to know the ins and outs of what he could possibly expect, but even in his worst nightmares he thought of his rights being traded, or just never breaking into the league, or —

“They want to sign you to an ELC,” Greg says.

“What?” Jared says. “But — they sent me down.”

“Yeah,” Greg says, “And I’m not going to bullshit you, you’re way too smart for that.”

“Okay?” Jared says.

“There’s no way they’re playing you in the NHL until next season at the earliest,” Greg says. “You’re playing awesome in the WHL, they want you to stay in the WHL. They intend for this contract to slide, last them at least four, possibly five years. You’re not going to see anything but the signing bonus until next year, and chances are if you do see something then, and they don’t want to send you back to the Dub again, it’ll be AHL salary, not NHL. They’re doing this to lock you in now so they don’t have to worry about it later, and they’re doing it because you’ve looked great out there.”

“Okay,” Jared says. “That’s. That’s what we expected, right?”

“Yeah, just want to manage your expectations here,” Greg says. “A contract isn’t —”

“Expectations managed,” Jared says. “What’re they offering?”

“Nine twenty-five flat, no incentives,” Greg says. “Signing bonus is 92,500, you’ll get that as soon as you sign the contract. Comes out of your future salary, but I don’t think you’ll mind: it’s more than enough to move out your parents’ place right now, if you want.”

Jared…really should probably tell Greg he’s living with Bryce. This emphatically doesn’t feel like the time, though. 

Also, Jared is having trouble processing the number. Maybe Greg misspoke. Even though that’s — ten percent is standard, nine-twenty five’s become the standard in the past couple years for first and second rounders, it’s all what he should and does expect, but —

It’s one thing to know the numbers, but it is a whole other thing to get told they’re about to give him close to a hundred grand when he’s got all of a few hundred dollars in his savings right now.

“Ninety two _thousand_?” Jared says. 

“It’s not NHL money, but,” Greg starts.

“It’s a ton of money,” Jared says.

“It’s a tenth of what you’re going to be seeing in a couple years,” Greg says. “And if you manage to play anywhere near the level you’re playing right now, after that you’ll be looking at, well — you might not make Bryce Marcus money, but you’ll be making at least a few million a year. This is just the start.”

Jared can’t even think about that right now, because ninety-two thousand dollars? That’s. That’s like, more than either of his parents make, by a fair amount, and they’re just — giving it to him all at once. Like. A cheque. For 92,500.

Holy shit.

“Jared, you still here?” Greg says.

“Yeah,” Jared says.

“I can tell them you’re willing to sign, right?”

“Yeah,” Jared repeats.

“Okay,” Greg says. “I’ll get back in touch with them, you go call your parents or something, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jared says.

“And congrats,” Greg says. “You deserve it. Don’t say yeah.”

“I honestly don’t know what else to say,” Jared says.

“How stupid is your grin right now?” Greg asks.

Jared checks the mirror.

“The stupidest,” he says, and it only grows wider when Greg laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> I pulled salary and signing time -- ie midseason after a surge in Juniors play -- from an Oiler prospect with similar draft position and WHL stats to Jared. Did I spend literal hours trawling recent Oilers prospects to find an analogue? Yes. I now know far more about current Oilers prospects than I did a week ago.


End file.
